“There was a good reason for that.” Smitty held up his hands. “The chief told us that you're too close to the situation. We're sorry, but the chief is the one who signs off on our checks, so we have to follow his directions.”
Marcus's eyes roamed the room. “That's all well and good, but what if it were your wife who was attacked? What would you all do? Would you just drop it?”
One of the other team members, Larry, stood up and said, “Marcus, we know how you feel, and we'd probably do the same thing if it happened to us. But we aren't in a position where we can jeopardize our jobs. We need our checks.”
“You say that we're a family, but in reality, we're family with strings attached,” Marcus sputtered. “Look, you've said your piece, and I appreciate all you do. But that's not going to stop me from doing what I have to do to solve the crime against me and my wife.” He stood up and left the room.
Wade felt troubled. He stood up and left the room to search for Marcus. He went to the lounge area and found him standing at the window, staring out of it.
“Marc,” he began saying, “the chief talked to me yesterday, and there have been some complaints about your attitude. Some of the guys find it disruptive.” Wade was clearly uncomfortable.
“And,” Marcus said belligerently. He flexed his hands and curled them into fists.
“Hey, buddy,” Wade help up his hands, “I'm on your side. But you've got to lighten up some. God knows this situation is hard on you. You've got to find a way to get over it so your life isn't consumed by what happened.”
“Excuse me,” Marcus said through gritted teeth. “I can't help but feel a little pressure here. My wife was raped, and now every day I have to watch her belly swell with that animal's child. And to complicate matters, her old man, who she hasn't seen in years, is getting out of the joint after serving time for murder one. And my life, as I knew it, has been obliterated like an atomic bomb was dropped on it. Man, I've had it up to here.” He ran his hand across his neck.
Wade could feel waves of hopelessness emanating from Marcus's body, and he prayed that God would help him find the words to say so Marcus would realize all he had to do was pray for God to ease his burdens. All Wade could think to say was, “Come on now, brother. I'm with you, and the Lord is with you. Marcus, you're not alone.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said heatedly. “Where was God when Monet was being raped? How come He didn't protect her then? Where was your God then?” Marcus's shoulders were hunched up, and he moved toward Wade menacingly.
Wade put his hand on his chest and shook his head sadly. “He's not only my God, Marc, He's yours too. And you know as well as I do that the situation could've been worse. Monet could have been killed. Is that what you would have preferred, that she died? God was there, nobody but God protected her.”
“How can you fix your mouth to ask me that?” Marcus had the grace to look ashamed for a moment. Then his face hardened. “The way I see it, Wade, is that God is the reason Monet is pregnant. That is what your God has done for me. Look, I've got things to do. I'll try to do better at work. Tell the chief that you've talked to me, and that the message was delivered.” With that, he turned and walked out of the room.
Wade watched his friend walk out the door and thought,
Lord, work with my brother, hold him tight in your arms, and don't let him go. Show him the way, because Marcus is in need of your help today.
A few minutes later, a troubled Wade left the room and decided to talk to Chief Davis. He walked to the chief's office and stood at the desk of Renee, the chief's secretary.
“Have a seat, Wade, I'll see if he's available,” she said. Wade sat down while Renee buzzed the chief and informed him that Wade was waiting to see him. Then she turned her attention back to her PC and continued entering data. Her telephone rang minutes later. “Okay, Chief Davis, I'll send him in,” she replied. She told Wade, “You can go in now.” She stood and ushered him into Chief Davis's office.
“Harrison.” Chief Davis nodded at Wade. “Have a seat.”
“Hello, sir.” Wade felt uncomfortable as he sat in the chair in front of the chief's desk. He felt like a Judas, as if he was betraying his best friend.
The men talked about office business for a while. Then Chief Davis cut to the chase. “How is he doing?” He picked up a cherry wood pipe off his desk and stroked it.
“Sir, Marcus is under a lot of pressure. He's distraught because his wife's attacker hasn't been found, and he looks at the perp being loose as a personal attack on his manhood,” Wade explained.
“Hmmm.” Chief Davis bobbed his head up and down. “I can see that. Marcus has always been full of pride. I hope he can pull it together because if he can't, then I'm going to have to pull him off the streets, assign him to a desk job, and recommend that he undergo counseling.”
Wade wiped his sweaty palms on the sides of his pants. “Could you just give him more time? It's really not my place to tell you this, but under the circumstances, I feel you should know that Marcus's wife is pregnant, and he's convinced the pregnancy is a result of the rape.”
That news got the chief's attention. He'd been looking down at a paper in Marcus's folder. He looked up at Wade, down at the papers, then up at Wade again, his mouth slightly open.
“I promise I'll keep an eye on him. And if I feel as though he's slipping or unable to cope well, I'll bring it to your attention immediately. If Marcus is unable to or is suspended from work, I'm afraid he'll snap. He's got to feel useful somewhere, since he feels like he's failed at home.”
Chief Davis stuck the pipe in his mouth. “The whole thing is a shame. I think you're taking a lot on your shoulders, Harrison. You know partners are like lifelines. A situation could jump off at any time, and you've got to make sure you can rely on your partner's actions.”
“I hear you, sir, but I couldn't do any less. Marcus and I have been partners for fifteen years. He's more than a partner to me, he's like a brother. Pulling him off the job now would just further damage his psyche. If I feel like I can't handle the situation, I'll talk to you,” Wade promised.
“See that you do. If your suggestion fails, then it's on you, Harrison,” the chief growled. His telephone rang. He laid the pipe down on his desk and pressed a button on the telephone. “Yes, Renee?”
“Chief, you have a meeting in five minutes,” the secretary reminded her boss.
“Okay, Renee, I'm coming. Harrison is leaving.” He pressed the button again and the call was disconnected.
“Why don't you talk to Renee on your way out, and set up an appointment with me on a weekly basis to talk about Caldwell's progress, or the lack thereof?” Chief Davis instructed.
Wade stood up and pushed the chair closer to the desk. “Yes, sir. I mean I will, sir.”
“I swear when I talk to you, Harrison, I feel like I'm in the military.” He closed the file. “Keep me in the loop,” he further instructed.
“I will.” Wade flashed him a smile as he walked out of the office. He paused at Renee's desk and told her the chief's request.
Renee clicked on an icon on the PC monitor and checked Chief Davis's schedule. “He's free in the mornings at six thirty. I know your shift doesn't start until seven. Can you come in early on Fridays?
Wade nodded. Nobody said it would be easy, but he was willing to go the extra mile for Marcus.
Renee scheduled the meeting as a recurring one for three months. “I'll see you next Friday, Wade. Rose Woodson is one of my close friends, and she told me Marcus has been having a hard time. I just wanted to compliment you on hanging in there for your friend. God will bless you, and one day Marcus will realize what you've done and he'll be grateful.”
“Thanks, Renee. I think so too.” He smiled at her, then left the room and returned to the detective's area.
After he sat down at his desk, Wade turned and asked Marcus if anything had come in for them while he'd been gone. Marcus told him no. Wade opened his case book and before he began to transcribe notes into it, Wade looked over at Marcus. He was hunched over the PC keyboard typing with his hunt and peck method.
Wade hoped that Marcus would be able to get himself together, because if he didn't, Wade knew Chief Davis would make good on his threat to assign Marcus to a desk job. Wade prayed he was up to the task of keeping his friend in check because he didn't want Marcus's life to spiral even further out of control. Wade sighed and turned his attention back to his almost illegible scrawling handwriting and ordered his mind to stay on work, and as his grandmother used to admonish him as a child, to stop borrowing trouble.
Chapter 21
“Goodness gracious, I forgot I had a doctor's appointment this morning,” Monet moaned when she awakened at ten o'clock. She sprang out of bed and rushed into the bathroom, showered and dressed. After she put food and water out for Mitzi, she left the house and drove to Dr. Armstrong's office in Chatham.
An hour later, she pulled her car into a parking space, got out of the car, and walked briskly to the two story building. The wind was high in Chicago, and seared her eyes. Monet walked inside the elevator and pushed the button for the second floor. The elevator seemed to take forever to climb one floor. She sighed and glanced at her watch. She was only running five minutes behind schedule. She exited the elevator and walked down the hallway to office 310. She pushed the door open and walked inside to the receptionist's desk.
“Dr. Armstrong is running a little behind schedule,” Pat, the nurse/receptionist, notified Monet after instructing her to add her name to the sign-in sheet.
After she complied, she handed her insurance card to Pat, who made a copy of it and returned the card to her. As she took her seat, Monet noticed there were three patients ahead of her, in various stages of pregnancy.
She remembered when she saw the doctor for her yearly pap smear test, how envious she was of the doctor's pregnant patients. She looked down at her abdomen and smiled. Then Monet pulled a paperback book out of her purse and began reading.
She was so engrossed in the book that Pat had to repeat her name a couple of times. Monet looked up at the receptionist. “Did you call me?” she asked.
“Yes, I did. The doctor can see you now.” Pat opened the door leading to the examination area. She walked beside Monet. “You're in room C. So how have you been feeling?”
“Not bad,” Monet said, “The worst of the nausea seems to have passed.”
“Good,” Pat nodded her head. She weighed Monet and took her vitals. “You can put on the dressing gown. The doctor will be in to see you soon.”
“Thank you.” Monet quickly took off her clothing and put on the dressing gown. While she waited for the doctor, she resumed reading her book. She looked up when Dr. Armstrong walked into the room and quickly set the book on the chair where her clothing had been placed. “Hello, Dr. Armstrong,” she said, as she climbed back on the examining table.
“Hello, Monet. How are you feeling?” Dr. Armstrong she sat in a chair next to the table and quickly scanned Monet's chart. “Your pressure is good, and you've gained fifteen pounds total; not bad.” She stood up and walked to the table. She told Monet to lie down, and then began her examination. When she was done, Dr. Armstrong told her she could sit up. “Everything seems fine, and the baby's heartbeat is strong. Are you sleeping okay? What's new with you?” she asked, as she made notations on Monet's chart.
“Well, I think I felt the baby move yesterday,” Monet said shyly. “The sensation was a fluttering one in the pit of my stomach. Could I hear her heartbeat?”
“Sure.” Dr. Armstrong stood up and handed Monet her stethoscope. Then she sat back down. “You're a nurse, so I don't have to give you any instructions.”
Monet fumbled slightly as she put the earpieces in her ears. Then she placed the circular metal portion of the instrument on her belly. She rolled it over her belly until she heard the baby's heartbeat. Her smile was as bright as a ray of sunlight. “Oh my, her heartbeat is so strong.” She took the stethoscope from around her neck and handed it back to Dr. Armstrong.
The doctor said, “I'd say you're doing well. Are you drinking plenty of milk, taking your prenatal pills, and resting?” Monet nodded yes. Dr. Armstrong closed Monet's file and looked at her. “When you finish dressing I'd like to talk to you in my office.” She stood up and closed the door behind her.
Monet felt apprehensive for a few minutes as her mind raced to figure out what the doctor might want to talk to her about. She rose from the examination table and got dressed. Ten minutes later, she sat in the brown chair in front of Dr. Armstrong's desk, twisting the strap of her purse nervously.
The doctor leaned back away from her desk. “Let me put your mind at ease, I only want to schedule you for tests at the hospital. A blood workup, ultrasound test, and I'd like you to consider taking an amniocentesis.”
Monet looked upward, and then back at the doctor. “I have no problem with the blood workup or taking an ultrasound test. But are you scheduling the amniocentesis because you think something is wrong, or as a precaution?”
“Monet,” Dr. Armstrong said gently, “you're forty-two years old. Granted, we haven't had any issues, but because of your age, we still have to be proactive with your care. I just don't want any surprises when it's time for you to deliver.”
“I understand what you're saying.” Monet nodded her head. “But I know the baby is fine. If there are any birth defects, and I know there aren't, then I'll deal with it when the time comes.”
“Actually new studies show that an amniocentesis can be administered in a mother's third trimester of pregnancy at the discretion of a patient's physician. I thought if we do the amniocentesis now, then we can run a DNA test at the same time. That might help put your husband's mind at ease regarding the paternity of the child. Raising a child with birth defects isn't easy.” Dr. Armstrong sat up erect in her chair.
“Regardless of the results of an amniocentesis or an ultrasound test, I'll welcome my child into the world. I am not interested in learning the sex of the baby, I already know I'm having a girl,” Monet said imploringly, as she leaned forward in her chair.
“I understand,” Dr. Armstrong said soothingly. “I just wanted you to be aware of your options and what you might be facing.”
“You know what? My life might be in shambles right now. But as long as I have Jesus to lean on, and I do, then I'll be fine. Is that it?”
“Yes, but I'd still like you to consider taking the amniocentesis.” Dr. Armstrong was aware that she had upset her patient. “How are things with you and Marcus? Any better?”
“No, not really. But hey, I'm making it.” Monet shrugged her shoulders.
“I'm not asking to get in your business or anything. Your mental state is just as important as your physical one. That's all I'm getting at,” Dr. Armstrong said apologetically.
“No harm done. Since I'm a nurse, I understand what you're saying. Actually, God has seen fit to bless me with a pair of wonderful friends and my brothers, which I consider my support system. They all make it their business to make sure I stay as upbeat as I can during the pregnancy. Liz, my best girlfriend, will attend Lamaze classes with me, so when the time comes I'll be fine, whether Marcus comes around or not.”
“Great,” Dr. Armstrong said. “A support system is quite important at this time. My grandmother, bless her heart, had an old saying:
A sad mother makes for a sad baby
, so I try to do what I can to keep my mothers' moods upbeat and positive.”
“I appreciate your efforts,” Monet said meekly. “I just get a little cranky sometimes. It must be my hormones.” She and the doctor shared a laugh.
“Well, I've written a prescription for vitamins, and I've also given you paperwork for the amniocentesis test, ultrasound procedure, and the lab workup. Do whatever you feel is best.” Dr. Armstrong handed Monet three pieces of paper.
She stood up and said, “Okay, I'll see you when? In three weeks?”
Dr. Armstrong looked up. “Make your next appointment with Pat for three weeks, and by that time I should have all the lab results back. It's time for me to see my next patient.”
Monet nodded as she put the papers inside her purse. She waved good-bye and said, “I'll see you next time.” She stopped at the reception desk and made her next appointment. As she was walking to her car, Monet decided to have lunch at a neighborhood café before returning home.
When Monet arrived at her house, she let Mitzi out in the backyard so she could get some exercise. She hung up her coat in the hall closet, and then returned to the kitchen, picked up the cordless phone, and made an appointment for her lab work at the hospital. She turned the paperwork for the amniocentesis over and over in her hand. Then she stuffed it back into her purse. She felt the test was a waste of time, and she wasn't going to have it done.
She let Mitzi back in the house, and the tiny dog followed Monet upstairs to the bedroom. Monet removed her shoes, pulled back the comforter, and lay in the bed. Within minutes, she was asleep with a Mona Lisa smile on her face.
The ringing telephone interrupted her nap. Liz called to see how her doctor's appointment had gone. Monet told her, and then explained about her misgivings with taking an amniocentesis. Liz agreed with her decision, since it didn't affect her pregnancy one way or the other. Liz told Monet she had a meeting and would call her back later.
Just as Monet hung up the cordless phone and laid her head on the pillow, the telephone rang again. Her manager at the hospital, Angela Sullivan, usually called her Monday afternoons to see how she was feeling. So far Monet hadn't told anyone at work about her pregnancy, and decided to test the waters and see what Angie's reaction would be.
When Monet requested an extension of her leave of absence, she told St. Bernard that she still hadn't fully recovered from the attack. Upper management approved the extension and told Monet to come back when she felt ready. Angie had assured Monet that there would always be a place for her at the maternity ward.
She removed the cordless phone from the base, peered at caller ID and clicked it on. “Hello, Angie,” she greeted her manager.
“Hi, Monet. How are you doing?” Angela asked.
“I'm good. How is everyone there doing?” Monet missed working at the hospital.
“We're all doing well. Everyone told me to tell you hello and that they're thinking about you.”
“Tell everyone I said hello. How are the babies?” Monet asked.
“We had six births since I last talked to you. One is a very tiny preemie. She weighs a little over a pound, so she'll be with us for a while. And Cydney Mitchell brought little Ashley in to see us last week. She has gained a lot of weight. Ashley is a pretty little thing and feisty.” Angela laughed.
“I remember how her tiny arms would flail, and she'd kick her legs when we had to insert an IV into her.” Monet joined in Angela's laughter. “Well, I'm glad to hear that she's doing well.”
“Successes are always good. Cydney sends her love and gratefulness to you,” Angela informed.
“I was only doing my job,” Monet replied modestly. She looked across the room at Mitzi. The dog stood up, arched her back, and shook her body as if she were stretching. Then she laid back down in her corner of the room.
“So when do you think you'll come back to work?” Angela asked, as she did every week.
“Not for at least another four plus months,” Monet answered. She couldn't keep a smile from her face.
“Hmmm, four months? That's a nice round number. Is there anything significant about six months?”
“Angie, I'm pregnant,” Monet answered shyly. Her tongue seemed to glide over the word pregnant. Her eyes fell to her midsection, and she patted it.
“Wow.” Angela's mouth dropped open. She, like most of the staff in the department, was aware of how much Monet wanted a baby. “Congratulations, Monet,” she said awkwardly. She did the math in her head and deduced her employee's baby was conceived around the time of the rape.
“Thank you, Angie,” Monet said quietly. She had almost gotten used to the lack of enthusiastic responses when she announced that she was pregnant.
“How are you feeling? I guess since you've passed the first trimester you must be sighing with relief,” Angie added to the stagnant conversation.
“Yes, I am, as well as being grateful to God,” Monet commented.
“Marcus was here a couple of weeks ago investigating a case, and he never said a word. So how is he taking the news?” Angela asked curiously.
“He was surprised to say the least,” Monet replied casually. “I think he'd given up hope that we'd ever have a child.”
“So which do you prefer, a girl or boy?” Angela queried. She sensed no more information would be forthcoming about Marcus.
“Like most mothers, I want a healthy baby. But I already know our baby is a girl,” Monet answered succinctly.
“Well, Monet, I'm happy for you. I know you've always wanted a baby. You'll have to come by and see us when you feel up to it. I'll be sure to share the news with the staff. That's okay with you, isn't it?”
“That's fine.” Monet nodded. Then she speculated how Marcus would feel about her telling people her news. She dismissed the thought, rationalizing she couldn't keep the secret forever. After all, her pregnancy was becoming more evident every day.